O Come, O Come, Ye Scrooge of Baker St
by SheWhoScrawls
Summary: A response to Hades Lord of the Dead's December Advent Calendar Challenge. Read if you're interested in holiday fun with our ACD friends. Back to posting! Happy Christmas in July!
1. Decorating Deluge!

_A/N: Hello, hello, and welcome to the SheWhoScrawls submission to Hades Lord of the Dead's Advent Calendar Challenge! You are in for fun, fun, fun! Happy Holidays! -SWS _

_Prompt: Decorating 221B_

_From: ImaLateBloomer_

_Date: December 1st_

* * *

It was with an innate curiosity that Sherlock Holmes entered 221 Baker St. after seeing some strange glittery thing in the upstairs window.

Mrs. Hudson's voice greeting him from somewhere upstairs. "It smells as if the biscuits are ready, if you would care to bring them up, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes sniffed, and indeed there was the smell of baked gingerbread wafting from the kitchen. But all other reaction was dulled by the sight of the entire foyer bedecked in a festive display of holly branches, red bows, and _glitter._

After a moment of silence, Mrs. Hudson appeared halfway down the stairs. "Mr. Holmes, kindly do not pretend you are not present. _The cookies, _if you please."

Holmes knew from experience that the wrath of the motherly Scottish woman should be avoided by all costs. He sighed and followed the smell to the kitchen.

Once upstairs with the treats on a platter, Holmes walked over to his desk and pulled a sheaf of telegraph paper from the drawer. _Now where had she put those blasted pens? _

He turned around to ask her. "Mrs Hudson -"

Without turning to face him, she answered calmly. "They are in the back of the drawer. I bundled them."

Holmes pulled out the door the rest of the way, revealing a neat bundle of pens. Hiding his astonishment at how the landlady had known what he was looking for, he took one out and penned a message on the paper.

_Watson, may I spend the day at your house? - Holmes_

"You are insufferable, Mr Holmes. You know the Doctor shall say the same thing if you follow through with it. Now would you get me the brown box from the upstairs hall?"

* * *

_A/N: Now that was fun! I'm liking this thing! More tomorrow. -SWS_


	2. Mistletoe Mayhem!

_A/N: Hooray, December 2nd! I cannot tell you how much fun I'm having with this, it is the bright spot in a chaotic life, so I'm grateful. Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers in chapter 1, who seem as if they're having as much fun reading as I am writing. You guys are awesome, so go enjoy this as your reward! -SWS_

_Prompt: Mistletoe_

_From: Poseidon God of the Seas_

_Date: December 2nd_

* * *

I have never found it to be below my friend Watson to play a trick on me when the opportunity presents itself, especially since he and Miss Morstan were joined in faithful matrimony, as she is a mischievous soul despite her delicate frame.

It was Christmas Eve of 1889 that I found myself with an invitation to dinner at the Watson's house, and had not the bravery to refuse, or else incur the wrath of Mrs. Mary Watson. I had seen her defend her husband, and had no wish to get between her and her plans.

So it was that I stood in the doorway of the Watson residence, being greeted by Mrs. Watson, who was taking the place of that careless housemaid, Mary Jane.

As she took my coat from me, she looked over her shoulder to her husband, giving him what looked suspiciously like a wink. He grinned back at her, and I got a rather uneasy feeling.

Mary turned back to me. "My big brother," she greeted me fondly, and before I could react, she had given me a peck on the cheek.

Watson burst out laughing at my expression from where he stood in the hallway.

A second later, my eyes flitted upwards to see mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above my head.

* * *

_A/N: It's thanks to Aleine Skyfire that I think of Sherlock and Mary as brother and sister. And oh, how embarrassing for poor Holmes! More tomorrow! God bless! -SWS_


	3. Time to Shine!

_A/N: OK, so if you look at the prompt below, you'll see why I was stumped for a little while. Kudos to my mom for heading me in the right direction. LOL, I love this one, and I hope you do too! -SWS_

_Prompt: Watson's time to shine_

_From: Poseidon God of the Seas_

_Date: December 3rd_

* * *

"I can't believe Holmes sent me to do this alone," I muttered as I silently crept through the doors and into the laboratory.

Culverton Smith was _Holmes' _criminal. I didn't have much to do with him.

And yet here I was, bloody investigating the man's cultivations and God only _knew _what else.

I looked about me as I moved slowly among the tables and shelves containing row after row of various chemicals and powders. They were organized meticulously, as was the style of the amateur pathologist.

A dog howled from somewhere outside. My nerves were on edge, and the slight noise sent me jumping into the air, just keeping myself from crashing into the table closest to me. However, it proved to be enough to upset one of the bottles on a shelf above me, and it came tumbling down on top of my head, shattering into a hundred pieces and covering me in some kind of white powder. It appeared not to be directly harmful, so I hastily brushed off what I could. The noise was sure to attract some sort of attention, so I hastily took my leave.

* * *

John had told me he wouldn't be returning until late, so I had told Mary Jane to turn off the gas in the hall. I waited in the sitting room, reading by the light of a single lamp beside the sofa.

I had been waiting for quite some time when I heard the door close in the hall. I shut my book and went to see if John had returned yet, knowing that Mary Jane would not make it to the door.

Upon walking into the front hall, my hands went up to my face, clapped over my lower face to hide my gape, and my eyes went wide at the sight before me.

The figure raised his hands. "Mary, it's only me," he assured me gently.

I wasn't afraid in the least, but was merely trying to repress a laugh. "John, you're - you're _glowing."_

He jerked his head downwards to look at the rest of his body. His eyes went wider than mine. His mouth opened and closed without sound for a moment before he managed to get the words out. "Good heavens!"

He scraped his finger along his forearm and sniffed the substance that was on his finger. "It's phosphorescent powder," he determined.

I bit my lip. "John, why exactly are you coated in phosphorescent powder?"

"I guess that's what fell on my head when I bumped the shelf."

"Oh." I made the wise decision to not ask further.

* * *

"So then the noise startled me, and I nearly knocked over the table, and that bottle fell off the shelf and onto my head!"

In his armchair across from me, Sherlock Holmes burst into laughter loud enough to be heard all the way down Baker St. He stood up and clapped me on the shoulder on his way over to the fireplace. "I guess it was your time to shine, Watson."

* * *

_A/N: LOL, that was awesome! You know, at the end there I was totally picturing Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke. Can't you just hear Jeremy's laugh from the Red-headed League in that spot? Anyway, hope you enjoyed. More tomorrow. -SWS_


	4. Storyteller!

_A/N: Sorry this is a day late. *cringes* Life in general was just a bit crazy yesterday, and my brain had a meltdown. Things are better today though, so I will get caught up. Now the important bit: please enjoy this chapter! -SWS_

_Prompt: A scene from either Holmes' or Watson's childhood.  
_

_From: I'm Nova  
_

_Date: December 4th  
_

* * *

John's small feet plodded down the hallway to his brother's room. He opened the door and stood on the threshold. "Henry?"

His older brother looked up from his notebook, where he had been furiously scribbling. "John Hamish Watson, what are you doing out of bed?"

"I can't sleep, Henry." The seven-year-old sighed. "Will you tell me a story?"

Henry Alexander Watson relented after only a few seconds. He smiled at his younger sibling, gesturing for him to climb up on the bed. John did so eagerly, sitting cross-legged near the foot of the bed, paying close attention for the moment his brother began.

"What sort of story will you tell, Henry?"

Henry almost asked his brother what sort of story he wanted to hear, but thought better of it. He knew the answer would be an adventure story of any kind. Instead he glanced down at the notebook still open on his lap. "Well, there is a swashbuckling tale I'd begun to write down..."

At the word 'swashbuckling,' John's hazel eyes went wide. "Pirates?" He asked.

"Yes, pirates indeed." The twelve-year-old smiled as he began to tell of the booty stored in the hold of the ship, and the other pirates who were going to attack the ship and steal it, leaving the heroes of the story marooned on a deserted island, where they remained until they discovered a treasure map carved into the side of a tree.

At some point during the tale, John had curled up right beside his brother and laid his head against Henry's side to feel the rhythm of his speech. Henry looked down and noticed that his sibling's eyes were closed and his breathing steady.

That was acceptable, as he had come to the end of what he'd written anyway.

* * *

_A/N: Aw, wasn't that sweet? I love the thought that the penchant for storytelling was in the blood of the Watson family. They are Scottish, after all. As for the brother's name being Henry... SIGN reveals that Watson's brother's initials were HW, and I like Henry better than Hamish :P More very, very soon, so that I will be caught up. -SWS_


	5. The Chiming of the Bell!

_A/N: Here it is, December the fifth! This has been a thrill for me, answering a daily prompt. And would you look at that! We aren't even a week into the month! There is much more fun to come, it seems, but until then, please enjoy today's. -SWS_

_Prompt: Big Ben_

_From: Wordweilder_

_Date: December 5th_

* * *

__A noticeable sight it remains, its gilded face carved into the London skyline.

The time traveler grins as he walks down Westminster Bridge, which offers a clear view of the famous clock tower. This is his future. He has come from their past.

Many people have told him as he walks about the city of London that he bears a remarkable resemblance to Sherlock Holmes, and that he should try out for an acting role.

The thought of this broadens his smile even more. If only they knew that they were asking him to act the part of himself!

But now he knows that it is the same as it used to be: very few people know that the over-popular name of _Big Ben _refers not to the clock itself, but to the bell which chimes the hour - it does so with such clarity even as he thinks of it.

Now he only needs to find out if Scotland Yarders are still such complete imbeciles as they are where he comes from.

* * *

_A/N: Heh-heh, Holmes time traveled to present day London! Just to see how different things are (and possibly foil the plans of Jim Moriarty, for all you BBC fans)! This one was fun. Rest assured I will be back on schedule to post tomorrow. -SWS_


	6. Amazing Grace!

_A/N: Yay, the sixth day of December has arrived! I am extremely excited about this. This story has the most views and reviews of any of my stuff, so please feel free to become more acquainted with my writing style once you have read this. My other stories need more reviews! But a big THANK-YOU so everyone here who has reviewed this story, I am giving you all virtual hugs right now. -SWS_

_Prompt: Watson has a surprisingly good singing voice. _

_From: Werepanther33_

_Date: December 6th_

* * *

"I love you, dearest." The words were scarcely more than a whisper. John Watson stood in St. Marylebone Cemetery, with his hat tucked respectfully under his arm and a bouquet of white lilies held in his hand.

He had so many conflicted feelings today. After three long years, he finally had his detective back. Should he have been less forgiving for the deception? A mixture of relief and guilt washed over him.

"I know you only wanted me to be happy, my love, but in my own grief I lost sight of reality. I... never realized you were..." A single tear trickled down his face. "I don't know if you can help me, but I have to make a decision. You were always better with them than I was."

He collapsed onto the bench behind him, shoulders slumped in despair. After a few moments the tune found its way into his brain. She always sang it when he was overworked, and her voice soothed him. It was the least he could do for her.

_"Amazing grace,_

_How sweet the sound_

_That saved a wretch like me.  
_

_I once was lost,  
_

_But now am found.  
_

_Was blind, but now  
_

_I see."  
_

__He would have sang another verse, but the tears were falling faster now. He sat there for a moment before feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Holmes' face, creased with sympathy. "My dear fellow," said Holmes softly, coming to sit beside him, "I see that this is where Lestrade says you go every day. When were you going to tell me?"

"Soon," he manages. He looks at his watch. "Mrs. Hudson will be preparing luncheon soon. I suppose we should return."

Holmes did not argue. They stood up, and Watson bowed his head respectfully as he placed the lilies at the foot of the gravestone.

_Mary Watson_

_1861-1894  
_

_Devoted wife and mother  
_

Then they turned and walked toward the gate of the cemetery. After a moment, Holmes turned to look at his friend. "You never told me you could sing so well, Watson."

He shrugged and made brief eye contact with Holmes. "Mother had me take choir lessons as a boy. Mary was very unrelenting in her teasing about it."

Upon mentioning his wife's name, Watson turned to look at the marble gravestone one last time. "Goodbye, my dearest," he whispered back at her.

* * *

_A/N: OK, so that was a teensy bit longer than I expected, but it was also far more heartbreaking. Literally, I just used up three tissues. Let's all hug Watson, he totally needs it. Hope you enjoyed this, but I also hope you didn't use as many tissues as I did. See y'all tomorrow, and please review! -SWS_


	7. Chocolate!

_A/N: Yes, this officially marks the end of the first week of December! How exciting for me! Anyway, this one was supremely cute, I had fun with it. Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers, and all you who have read, followed, or favorited. You guys rock! -SWS_

_Prompt: Chocolate_

_From: ImaLateBloomer_

_Date: December 7th_

* * *

"Watson, why do you have so many confounded fans?" Holmes sounded exceptionally annoyed at the pile of mail which had been left on our dining table.

I grinned. "I'm surprised more of them aren't addressed to you! For heaven's sake, you're the one my stories are about!"

"_More _of them? _None _of them are for me!"

I chuckled as I walked over to stand by my friend. "I guess I'm commended more for putting up with you."

Holmes frowned and grumbled something profane, which vaguely included the words 'unfair advantage,' stalking across the room and sinking into his armchair.

I picked up one of the small packages and opened the wrapping. I lifted the lid to reveal... "Chocolates!"

Holmes sighed darkly. "You'd better not. They may be poisoned."

I laughed at his attitude and popped one of them into my mouth.

Delicious.

* * *

_A/N: Aww, poor Holmes. Let's all send him fan mail! Yay! I will be back tomorrow! And please continue to review! -SWS_


	8. The Magnifier!

_A/N: When I received this prompt in a PM from Hades, I smiled. I knew right away that I would love this one. Not that there have been any I don't love. This whole thing is so awesome for me... Some of my other readers may have noticed that I haven't been updating my other regular stories. I will tell you that they are on temporary hiatus for this month of December, so that I can concentrate on this challenge of awesomeness and all the other pursuits of my life. Enjoy this chapter! -SWS_

_Prompt: Explain how Holmes came to own his magnifying glass. _

_From: Ennui Enigma_

_Date: December 8th_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was young, alone, and thoroughly _exhausted. _He had just saved... _How many was it? _Ah, yes, _10 _blundering idiots belonging to Scotland Yard. They would have all been killed if he hadn't intervened with their little "raid."

Lestrade was furious with him, and not even because he'd been called an idiot at least twice in the following chaos of handcuffs, paperwork, and ballistics.

And all on Christmas Eve...

* * *

Holmes awoke on Christmas morning and walked into the sitting room to fetch the newspaper. On top of it, he perceived a smallish package, with a note attached to the outside of it.

He walked over to look at it.

_Holmes,_

_I suppose you were entirely correct about the Waterford case. I apologize for not involving you from the inception. I am also obligated to thank you for saving our skins yesterday, and saving the Yard the cost of nearly a dozen funerals. You can say this is a little thank you from all of us at Scotland Yard - the timing of the calendar worked out wonderfully._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Lestrade_

He opened the package and pulled out something golden and shiny.

A magnifying glass, with a polished handle and strong lens.

Holmes peered at the handle to make out the figures which were engraved there. It was the year, marked in the books of history as the First Year Sherlock Holmes Saved Scotland Yard: 1878.

* * *

_A/N: Aww, gotta love Lestrade! After December, this chapter may get continued in a different story, as I would rather like to know what Holmes saved them from. See you wonderful readers tomorrow! -SWS_


	9. The Watch!

_A/N: I apologize for being a few days late. However, I am needlessly blaming myself for something which is not (entirely) my fault: I've been sick since the weekend and most of this week. I had next to no energy, and certainly not the strength to think of ideas. Today I am slightly better, and now set this lovely tale before you. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Mycroft sends Holmes a rather expensive gold watch for Christmas. How does our dear detective react to this gift?_

_From: MadameGiry25_

_Date: December 9th_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes opened the card and scanned its contents. As he did so, his eyebrows shot up rather quickly. After staring at it for a moment as if challenging it, he shook his head and passed it to me. "What can you make of it, Watson?"

I took the card, a bit apprehensively, and studied the front. _Have A Blessed Christmas! _it proclaimed in plain red lettering. Eyebrows raised in anticipation, I flipped it open and looked at the inside.

**Sherlock,**

**I have thought long and hard and decided that I had better send you a token of appreciation this year. In the package included with this card you will find your gift.**

**Merry Christmas,**

**Mycroft **

"Well..." I began, rather taken aback by the words which had been written inside the card, "your brother wrote it..."

"Yes," prompted Holmes, "he did. Pray go on."

"I..." I could not come up with any other deductions. Instead, I followed another line of reasoning. "Do you have the package?"

Holmes started and reached behind him to grab the small box from the table. "I haven't opened it yet," he said, "but I will right now, if you would like."

I fixed him with a look, which he apparently recognized the meaning of, as he took his pocket knife and slit open the box to reveal something golden that shimmered in the lamplight. He stared at it, dumbfounded, for a moment or two.

After a period of silence I finally found my voice. "Your brother sent you a gold watch." It really looked quite expensive.

"My brother sent me a _fake _gold watch."

Not so expensive then. "My dear fellow, why on earth would he do that?"

Sherlock Holmes, the Master of Deduction, blinked once more at the exquisite piece he held in his hand. "I honestly have no idea. Perhaps our best course of action would be to ask him ourselves."

* * *

"My dear brother, did you know that -"

"That the doorman is leaving his job unexpectedly to go to Liverpool next week? Of course, what sort of unobservant fellow do you take me to be?"

Sherlock turned in confusion to stare at the door of the Strangers' Room, which one of the finely dressed doormen had just closed after escorting us. I grinned, being sure that he'd been taken completely off guard by that pronouncement.

"I was actually going to ask you if you were aware that the watch you sent me is fake."

Mycroft's expression was one of total puzzlement. I thought for a moment that he hadn't known this, and I was right - partially.

Finally the elder Holmes brother responded. "What watch, Sherlock?"

Sherlock took the watch and the card from his pocket and placed them on the table where Mycroft could inspect them. "You did not send these?"

Mycroft leaned over the table, employing the talents of observation which seemed to be so continually apparent in their family. "Certainly not. If I had, I would have known it was not legitimate. It's perfectly obvious."

Sherlock snorted. "Naturally." He moved closer to his brother. "Now, would you happen to have any idea who could have sent it, if not yourself?"

Mycroft pointed out the writing in the card. "The style of the writing is an excellent imitation of mine, however, the upward strokes of the 'p,' the 'm,' and the 'n' are more apparent than mine, meaning that whoever wrote this has a higher level intellect than I do."

Sherlock's eyes glinted. "And there is only one man of whom that could be possible."

I finally caught on to what they were trying to say. "Moriarty."

The brothers both turned their gaze on me. "Exactly."

Sherlock laughed and clapped his brother on the back. "I knew you would never actually send me a gift, dear brother."

If I didn't know better, I'd say something in his voice indicated fondness. But I did know better. He was a Holmes, after all.

* * *

_A/N: Well, somewhere in there that took a turn I wasn't expecting! I will try and post some more tonight while I'm feeling slightly more productive, so I will see you guys again very soon. And please review, you guys are making me smile, and I need some encouragement right now. Thanks :-) -SWS_


	10. Cake!

_A/N: OK, so here is my second one of the night. I'm really hoping to get more caught up. Since I haven't posted anything in days, this feels really good. Amazing what we take for granted :-) Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Recipe_

_From: Wordwielder_

_Date: December 10th_

* * *

__"What's next?"

"2 eggs."

A curse elicited from the Great Detective. "Dash it all, where does Mrs. Hudson keep the eggs?"

I sighed, pointing to where she'd left them on the counter for us. "Holmes, are you sure that when our landlady said she wanted the cake done by the time she returned she meant for you to help?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Why ever wouldn't she?"

"Because she long ago forbade you from setting foot in the kitchen."

As he was cracking the eggs over the bowl he sighed darkly. "I've never managed to see the reason behind that proclamation," he muttered.

* * *

_A/N: That one was shorter, but still fun :-) More coming up. -SWS_


	11. Forbidden!

_A/N: It was extremely coincidental and totally awesome that I got this prompt, as the premises of the prompt in question allow me to make it a continuation of the last one. So this is the story behind why Holmes is forbidden from setting foot in the kitchen. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: When experiments and cooking collide_

_From: Alice Wright_

_Date: December 11th_

* * *

__A shriek from the kitchen arrested my attention. I was somewhat puzzled, as this was the third time today.

Holmes froze in his tracks when he heard Mrs. Hudson's angry footsteps ascending the stairs. "Mr. Holmes, what _have _you done to my pie crust?"

I held up a hand. "_What _exactly is wrong with your pie crust, Mrs. Hudson?"

"It came out crumbled in the bottom of the pan!"

I knew our landlady's cooking was spectacular, and a ruined pie crust was certainly not the fault of a recipe with which the woman had years of experience. "_Holmes..." _

Both Mrs. Hudson and I were glaring at the detective, who merely furrowed his brow and nodded. "I'll note that down: cyanide in place of flour has an adverse effect."

"Holmes," I interjected, "if it hadn't completely destroyed the crust, were you going to allow us to consume pie containing cyanide powder?"

"Of course not! I would confiscate and dispose of it before the holidays."

One of Mrs. Hudson's hands left her hip and stretched out in front of her, pointer finger directed at Holmes. "That's three of my holiday dishes you've ruined today, Mr. Holmes! From this point on consider yourself _forbidden _to set foot in my kitchen!"

Holmes took a step towards the irate Scotswoman. "Mrs. Hudson, it could well be a breakthrough in the community of scientific cooking!"

I snorted and hid my face behind a newspaper. Holmes was not helping his situation _at all. _

* * *

_A/N: And there you have it! Consider this for **Book girl fan**, who just reviewed the previous chapter by saying that there was probably a good reason Holmes wasn't allowed in the kitchen. Here ya go, darlin'! And thanks to everyone who's been reading! I'm giving you all virtual hugs! -SWS_


	12. Sleigh Bells!

_A/N: I'm back again, hopefully! Staying home this morning to recuperate, and am hoping to catch up completely, so expect a few to come rather soon. THANK-YOU to everybody who has read and reviewed this, you guys have been so awesome. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Jingle_

_From: ME!  
_

_Date: December 12th  
_

* * *

Sleep's dark oblivion had graciously claimed me, and I was loath to be disturbed from it.

However it seemed as if I could not help but slip into the land of the living, as _something _was causing quite a ruckus in my ear.

I moaned and lifted an arm to shield my face.

"Watson!" _Jingle, jingle. _"WATSON!"

I opened my eyes halfway. As soon as I saw what was in front of me I opened them completely. "Holmes, why do you have _sleigh bells, _and where did you get them?"

He shook his head. "Now is not the time, Watson! Now come, the game is afoot!"

I groaned. "Holmes..."

He shook the bells again in impatience. "Hurry, we have a murder!"

_Oh, a _murder. He seemed rather excited.

"Holmes, a dead body can wait for me to get dressed."

"Yes, but Lestrade on the other hand is getting rather impatient."

I sighed moodily. _Why did I put up with this? _

* * *

_A/N: Oh, poor Watson. I'm thinking this is an Abbey Grange sort of situation? And why does Holmes have sleigh bells? That silly, silly man! More to come :-) -SWS_


	13. Sleigh Ride!

_A/N: OK, second chapter today. Huh, this one kind of goes with the last one. Cool, let's see where it goes. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Sleigh Ride_

_From: ME!_

_Date: December 13th_

* * *

"Holmes, why did you have sleigh bells this morning?" I asked my friend as we sat in the carriage on the way to Victoria Station.

Inspector Lestrade cleared his throat pointedly when he heard this, attempting to hide his face from where he was beside Holmes, who sat opposite me.

Holmes snorted in a rather undignified manner before replying. "I got them from Lestrade as..."

Lestrade went wide-eyed and frantically shook his head, but Holmes took no notice.

"... a sort of Christmas present."

I raised my eyebrows. "A... present?"

Lestrade knew that Holmes would continue to explain the matter, and so he let his head fall forward and impact the side of the carriage's interior with a rather painful sounding _clunk. _

"Yes, he wanted me to dispose of them. They were removed in a midnight theft excursion to the barn from his family's sleigh last week, the night before the Lestrades piled into it for a ride."

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why was their removal so necessary?"

Lestrade sighed and picked up the tale. "I did not want a repeat of last year's disaster."

"What was last year's disaster?"

"It was always a tradition of the children to play hide and seek following the sleigh ride. The sleigh bells would be hidden and there would be a rather thorough search of the grounds for them." He paused and grimaced. "Well, we don't exactly _know_ what last year's disaster was. One of the servants, Michael, was never found."

I raised my eyebrows further. That was a bit to the extreme. "So you smuggled them home and gave them to Holmes?"

The inspector nodded. Holmes looked sincerely amused. "And what did you tell your wife when she heard them jingling away inside your bags?"

Lestrade's face went a bit red. "I told her my keys must have fallen loose."

I cannot recall such an outbreak of laughter on the way to a murder scene, nor have I ever seen a glint of entertainment in Holmes' eye like the one when he told the inspector to make sure his keys were secure.

* * *

_A/N: All right, so that one didn't _physically _involve a sleigh ride, but it was an amusing tale, all the same. More to come, I assure you. -SWS_


	14. Christmas Wish!

_A/N: All right, this is a good start on getting caught up! Thank you again to all of my lovely reviewers who have made my day just jolly! Seriously, I needed that today. Enjoy, all! -SWS_

_Prompt: Holmes' Christmas_

_From: Werepanther33_

_Date: December 14th_

* * *

It was on Christmas Eve, 1887, that I noticed my friend Sherlock Holmes staring rather pensively into the glowing embers of the dying fire. I endeavored to break the silence of the room. "Holmes," I said, quietly and cautiously as was possible.

He broke his gaze away from the fireplace grate and turned towards me. "Yes, Watson?"

"What is on your mind, old fellow?"

He shook his head. "It's just memories, Watson. My ghosts of the past."

I put down my newspaper. "Would you care to elaborate?"

He sighed and gazed longingly into the distance for a moment before speaking. "It was on this night ten years ago that I left my fiancé in Norfolk in order to pursue my career in London."

I was stunned. The very thought of Holmes, engaged to be _married - _it was positively absurd! "Why did she not come to London with you?"

"I..." here the famous detective hesitated. "I did not wish to expose her to the danger that I knew my new profession would involve. Ever since, my only Christmas wish has been that I would spend it with dear, sweet Emmaline."

As Holmes spoke these words, I recognized pain in his voice, and I only wished that I could make his wish come true.

* * *

_A/N: Awwww, poor Holmes! *sniffles*_

_Well. This story was written following a rather interesting game of Clue with my (should I really call them) family. Before starting, I fetched my detective cape and magnifying glass, and my mom's boyfriend assumed the name of Boris Vladimir, drawing thick eyebrows and a goatee on himself with permanent marker. He later realized this may not have been a good idea. I was Miss Emmaline Hamilton, and my mother the Dubious Capybara. My name inspired this, BTW :) TWO games were ruined because my mom's boyfriend forgot to mark down all the cards he had and ended up making accusations which involved cards he had and didn't realize it. Quite an interesting "Russian." But, that may be because he's actually Australian. So yeah, it's been an interesting evening. _

_Hope you enjoyed! -SWS_


	15. Spoiled!

_A/N: Hello, I'm back again today, and am hoping to finally catch up. Once again, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers, you can't imagine how much the support and positive words mean to me. This prompt is for the day I was supposed to have a quiz meet, however I was still not well enough to go. Sigh. Well, at least I still have studying to turn to for comfort. Enjoy this chapter! -SWS_

_Prompt: Spoiled_

_From: Wordwielder_

_Date: December 15th_

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was familiar with the habits of her tenants. Mr. Holmes refused to eat when he was on a case. "I cannot afford unnecessary mental distraction," he always said.

But it was out of habit and the kindness of her heart that Mrs. Hudson continued to put fruit baskets on the sideboard for them.

"Doctor," she said, stopping Watson halfway up the stairs one day, "I know Mr. Holmes will not tolerate nourishment, especially today, but will you be so kind as to have some fruit before it goes to waste and spoils?"

He smiled at her, dashed up the stairs to get a piece of fruit, and returned a minute later, holding a brown banana. "I think it already has, Mrs. Hudson."

The kind woman sighed. "Oh, bother."

* * *

_Awww, maybe I'll eat some fruit on my next trip to Baker St. Well, I guess that would technically be my FIRST trip. More to come today, I promise to be caught up by Christmas. Please review! -SWS_


	16. Under Protest!

_A/N: Second chapter today, so I hope this goes well. Big thank-you to everybody else who is participating in this, as other's chapters have given me... hope, I guess while my muse was on sick leave. And thank-you toall my lovely readers as well, I love you guys so much. Enjoy this! -SWS_

_Prompt: Protest_

_From: Embracetheweird_

_Date: December 16th_

* * *

"Watson, put on the outfit!" I begged through my friend's bedroom door.

"No," came the muffled reply from inside.

"But the disguise is necessary if you want to meet our client!"

"Then I'm not going."

"But - but-" Oh, what could I say? "I protest!"

"Me too." Watson sounded pouty.

"Please?" I asked once more, desperate.

He opened the door a crack. "I am not dressing up as an elf, Holmes."

"Pretty please?"

"If it is an elf with no tights and no ears, I will."

"But that wouldn't be an elf at all!"

"That's my point."

* * *

_A/N: OK, this was inspired by this week's NCIS: Los Angeles episode, in which Nell tried to get Eric to dress up as an elf. Ohmygosh, Renee Felice Smith makes an absolutely adorable elf. She's totally the right height. Hope you enjoyed! -SWS_


	17. The Job!

_A/N: This prompt I totally got, as an avid reader of this lovely author's story _Deliver Us From Evil Part 1: Mortality. _It was also fun to write, so I hope you have fun reading! -SWS_

_Prompt: Moran is called away from a Christmas ball for an assassination job, and is less-than-thrilled._

_From: Aleine Skyfire_

_Date: December 17th_

* * *

Colonel Sebastian Moran had a healthy respect for the Christmas holiday. It was the one time of year where peace was best left _untouched. _The snow had a beauty to it, as the flakes fell gently, lacy and white.

This beautiful white, so soft and soothing, reminded him of the daughter he had once had. He did not think that the white crystals should become stained with crimson, not like her...

These were the Colonel's thoughts as he read the note that a passing gentleman had slipped into his hand. Assassination was _not _to be carried out during this time of rebirth. Some people might say that such a man could have no morals, but this was far from true. He had morals, and they stood firm against the belief that Christmas was just another day.

He crumpled the note in his strong fist and began to weave through the couples on the dance floor, who were drinking and talking and laughing. He finally saw the man making his way hastily to the exit. Moran caught his arm and turned him round.

"Sir?" asked the man, swallowing his fear and feigning confusion.

"Tell the Professor," said the _shikari _with an angry snarl, "that there _will _be words."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to dear Aleine for this prompt, as I have been intrigued by the idea of Moran with a heart ever since I read _Mortality. _It's a pleasure for me to portray the characters as Doyle never did. I enjoy the experimentation of it. I certainly hope you did :-) -SWS_


	18. The Tragedy!

_A/N: Here we go, another chapter for you guys! Please congratulate my muse on her return, she has been missed by me and I hope, you as well. I am glad to be posting again with the help of my muse. Her name is Callianna, and - "CALLIANNA! PUT DOWN THAT TAPE RECORDER!" Sorry, she's restless. "Callianna, please come over here and help me write. Thank you." Enjoy! -SWS (Oh, and Callianna too)_

_Prompt: Genre: Tragedy_

_From: Ennui Enigma_

_Date: December 18th_

* * *

It was a cold night in early November, 1888. The wind was blowing hard, and the windowpanes in Baker St. were shuddering with the force of it.

I was engaged in writing a journal entry when the door was opened to admit Inspector Lestrade. I stood to address him. "What can I do for you, Inspector?"

He sighed and began speaking in a grave tone of voice. "Is Holmes in tonight?"

I shook my head in the negative degree. "He's helping Fitzgerald in the J Division.(1)"

Lestrade nodded. "I'll send him a message. In the mean while, your assistance would be appreciated."

I froze in the act of closing my journal. "What is it?" I asked, bracing myself for what I feared would follow.

"We have another murder in the H Division. (2)" The official notebook came out of Lestrade's coat pocket, and he flipped it open. "Victim Mary Jane Kelly, in her room at 13 Miller's Court, off Dorset St."

I lowered my gaze respectfully. "Mutilations?"

Lestrade wiped a hand across his mouth before replying. "The worst we've yet seen. (3)"

I sank into my chair. "How old?" I asked, not thrilled at the concept of another young woman with more of her life to live killed my this monster.

"She was 25."

I let out my breath as my heart panged for the poor girl's soul. "What a tragedy."

* * *

_A/N: Mary Jane Kelly was the fifth victim of Jack the Ripper. This being the subject of the story is due to all the research I've done lately. Now I want to make it clear that Kelly's body was discovered after ten in the morning of November 9th, it's just that night seemed to be a better setting for this. Now for footnotes:_

_(1) The J Division was Bethnal Green_

_(2) The H Division was Whitechapel, the section of the city in the East End where the killings occurred, all within 1 mile of each other._

_(3) Injuries and mutilations to Kelly's extremities were so extreme that the police and coroners didn't refer to her body, but to her remains. _

_OK, now that that's out of the way, I hope you found this piece worth reading. I don't want to say enjoyable, for obvious reasons, but I do hope it was worth your time. I hope to write more tonight. -SWS (and I haven't forgotten Callianna)_


	19. Who Killed Cock Mycroft?

_A/N: I hope to lift your spirits from the last one. That was terribly thought provoking and nightmarish. And I mean terribly in every sense of the word. Hope you actually enjoy this one, though. -SWS (And Callianna the Muse)_

_Prompt: Mycroft makes a mistake_

_From: mrspencil_

_Date: December 19th_

* * *

"Mycroft, you can't hide forever." Sherlock Holmes gave his elder brother a stern look.

Mycroft, who was sitting sullenly in his armchair, turned his head to face his sibling. "I felt sure he'd be there," he repeated in shell-shocked tones.

Sherlock sighed and sat down opposite to Mycroft. "Brother, he outsmarted me, as I felt sure he and his staff would move first to Bristol, then on to New York."

"And I thought Cornwall would be first! Sherlock, do you have any idea what sort of chaos this will cause for my position in the government if word gets to the Foreign Office?"

"Mycroft, the government cannot afford to lose you, I am sure they will let you off, just as they did before."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock rather oddly. "But this is the first time I have made a mistake."

Sherlock shook his head. "There was that one other time..."

The rotund man fixed his lean and lanky younger brother with a steely glare. "All memories are buried of that time. We do not talk - no, _think - _about that other time. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, taken aback.

Mycroft turned to the window again with a sigh. "I cannot believe I allowed this to happen..."

* * *

_Uh-oh, who killed Cock Mycroft? Anyway, Callianna is being a little fussy, but she'll be better tomorrow with a good night's sleep. She may or may not want to help me out a little more before bed, later on. Until then, please continue to read and review! Thank you FFN Community of beautiful readers and writers! XO -SWS_


	20. Christmas Party!

_A/N: I must confess I am ashamed I have forgotten about this until now. Writers block, other projects, and life in general have gotten in the way of these prompts. Well, I guess it's Christmas in July! So if it's incredibly hot where you are, as it is where I am, enjoy this chance to cool off! -SWS_

_Prompt: Scotland Yard Christmas party_

_From: ImaLateBloomer_

_Date: December 20th_

* * *

It was late in the evening by the time Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson arrived at Scotland Yard for 1888's Christmas party. They had been invited by Lestrade, who had been thrilled in pointing out that if they didn't come, they'd be missing the Chief Commissioner's creative costume.

After being regaled with that knowledge, it was rather hard to pass up the opportunity.

Once they had entered the large conference room where the party was being held, Lestrade weaved his way through the crowd to see them right away. "You're just in time," he said excitedly, his euphoria showing he'd had more than one glass of champagne, "the Commissioner's about to arrive."

The buzz throughout the room showed that the Chief Commissioner was a very popular man indeed.

A few minutes later, there was a commotion near the door, and soon a boisterous figure emerged from the cluster of people enclosing him. The man was dressed in possibly the most ridiculous outfit Holmes had ever seen in all his years as a detective.

Lestrade had doubled over in hysterical laughter, and Holmes' face had twisted into an expression of surprise and dismay. "Is he dressed as a _carrot_?" he asked incredulously_._

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, don't ask. I've just woken up a bit ago, so my mind is still in la-la land. Hope you enjoyed. I'll try to get as much posted as I can today. And don't forget to review! -SWS  
_


	21. Disguise!

_A/N: Another chapter! Yays! I do need to straighten my impossibly thick hair this morning, and then I have a teen writing workshop this afternoon, but I give my word to get as much done as I possibly can until then. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Disguise_

_From: I'm Nova_

_Date: December 21st_

* * *

It was late in February in the year of 1887. I was seated in the old and worn armchair by the fire, my feet stretched in front of me to catch the warmth of the flames and a notebook open in my lap.

I had been waiting for Holmes to return from his reconnaissance for some hours now. Yawning, I turned to glance at the clock. Nearly half-past twelve; surely he should have at least sent word.

I confess I was beginning to doze off when I vaguely heard the sitting room door open. My eyes popped open as I started, and I looked to see not Holmes, but a rather menacing man with hunched shoulders, crinkled lines around his eyes, and a crooked smile. The sight was, for a moment, so hideous that I let out a very un-masculine squawk.

But not sooner than I had reacted, the man pulled off his cloak and straightened his posture, and was rubbing traces of actor's makeup off of his face. He laughed heartily. "Watson, my good fellow! It's only me!"

* * *

_A/N: Ah, the wonders of disguise! I absolutely love disguises, and, indeed, the whole art of stage-acting. So this was really fun to write. Hope you enjoyed! more to come! -SWS_


	22. The Actor's Reunion!

_A/N: Third chapter today! Here goes! Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Various Holmes's and their Watsons visit 221B for christmas_

_From: embracetheweird_

_Date: December 22nd_

_I'm not exactly sure what my response was intended to be, but here's my interpretation, which is fun..._

* * *

David and Edward glared disdainfully at each other from across the carriage seat. Jeremy's stern gaze was the only thing that kept them from going at it.

Finally, David spoke. "You're much too gray for your role, Mr. Hardwicke."

"Well, I'm more realistic, Mr. Burke," Edward shot back almost immediately. "How does one return from war and _not _have a few gray hairs?"

"I have gray hairs," said David indignantly, angling his head so that Edward could see.

"Oh, would you boys shut up," growled Jeremy. "We've arrived."

The three men stepped out of the cab and found themselves in front of number 221, Baker Street. They'd all lived there at some point in their careers.

The door was opened for them by a rather short, blond man, who was wearing a jumpsuit. "Oi, who are you?" asked David.

"Martin Freeman," answered the short man cheerfully. "I'm blogger to Benedict Cumberbatch, who is right...all right, so he's not here. I wonder where he's gone off to..."

"But you don't even have a mustache," David complained.

Martin rolled his eyes as if he'd heard this objection before. "Go on upstairs, that's where everyone else is."

In the sitting room, various other actors were mingling with each other. Jude Law waved from across the room as the Granada trio entered. "I like him," muttered David to Edward. "He has a nice mustache."

"Oh, good Lord," blurted Jeremy suddenly.

"What?" asked his two Boswells in unison.

"Look over there," said Jeremy, pointing. "It's Christopher Plummer and James Mason. Also known as Captain Von Trapp and Sir Oliver S. Lindenbrook." He shuddered. "Dear God. I must leave."

* * *

_A/N: Fun, wasn't it? *cackles* For those who don't know, Jeremy Brett's first Watson in the Granada television series was David Burke, who was replaced after season 1 by Edward Hardwicke. Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch star together in the popular modern BBC series Sherlock. Jude Law co-stared as Watson with Robert Downey Jr. in 2009 and 2011. And Christopher Plummer and James Mason starred in the 1979 film Murder By Decree. I wanted to stick Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce in there too, but I didn't, as I need to go eat breakfast currently. Hope you enjoyed! -SWS _


	23. An Early Return!

_A/N: So, I am very sorry if this piece doesn't seem like my normal quality, but I really had no idea of what to do with this ridiculous prompt. I hope I managed to make something out of it. Here goes... -SWS  
_

_Prompt: Holmes joins a seasonal choir_

_From: mrspencil_

_Date: December 23rd_

* * *

Two days before Christmas, in 1893, Dr. Watson was most certainly not in the holiday spirit. Not a week before, he had lost his wife to influenza.

When the carolers came to his door, he shooed them off in a trembling voice filled with horrible anguish. Respectfully, they dissipated from the doorstep with a few murmurs of, "Happy Christmas, sir."

Watson closed the door and massaged his temple. As he turned to head back to the sitting room, his eyes fell on a woolen mantle that had belonged to Mary. Tears suddenly springing to his eyes, he yanked it off of the coat rack and tossed it bitterly into the box at the foot of the stairs filled with his wife's belongings.

* * *

Barely an hour later, he heard a knock on the front door. It sounded meek and almost hesitant. Watson did not want to answer, but he finally arose from his chair after the knocking sequence had repeated itself for the third time.

He thrust open the door, and, much to his chagrin, saw that it was one of the carolers. "What do you want?" he said gruffly.

"May I come in, sir?"

Watson ran his gaze over the man. He was of average height and looked quite young. His hair was a sandy blond, and his face was pock-marked. He spoke with a strong Yorkshire accent.

He couldn't see why on earth he should let the boy in, but he could see the pleading in his eyes. He softened, relaxing his shoulders. "Yes, lad," he said quietly.

* * *

They stood in the hallway, and Watson's gaze fell on the sideboard. "Would you like a spot of brandy, lad? It might warm you up a bit."

"Please, sir," said the boy, removing his gloves and scarf.

Watson turned to pour the drinks, and when he turned back, he dropped the glasses in shock at what he saw. The glass shattered, and the spilled brandy formed a winding trail across the floor. The young, pock-marked lad from Yorkshire had disappeared. In his place stood a much taller, older man, who was thin and gaunt, and had a long, hawkish nose.

The Doctor's mouth worked without sound for a moment before uttering the name. "H-Holmes!"

A weak smile showed on Sherlock Holmes' face. "My dear Watson," he said.

"How - when did you -"

"Mycroft told me about Mary," he said softly, stepping towards Watson. "I wanted to return sooner, my dear fellow. I am so sorry."


	24. Shattered Glass!

_A/N: 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring - except for the mouse. Sorry 'bout that, I'm in a Great Mouse Detective mood. Enjoy this one! -SWS_

_Prompt: Glass decorations on the Christmas tree in 221B are not a good idea_

_From: Werepanther33_

_Date: December 24th_

* * *

It was in the early morning hours of Christmas Eve, 1895, that I was laying in bed when a sequence of loud bangs interrupted my peaceful slumber. They were followed by the sound of broken glass tinkling to the floor, which even I could hear in the otherwise dead silence of the house.

Still half asleep, I pulled on my dressing-gown and made my way down the stairs.

Entering the sitting room, I blinked. "Holmes, what in heaven's name -" I said, but broke off when my mind registered the sight in front of me. Holmes was sitting calmly in his armchair, legs crossed, and facing the Christmas tree Mrs. Hudson had insisted we place beside the fireplace, "for some holiday cheer," she'd said. He was holding his gun pointed at one of the glass ornamental decorations on the large conifer, and several appeared to have already been broken. Shards of glass lay on the floor around the tree.

He fired three more rounds in quick succession, and then turned to me. "Ah, hello, Watson," he said cheerfully.

"Holmes," I said slowly, controlling my temper, "what in the name of Bloody Mary are you doing? You'll wake the whole street at this hour!"

He walked over to the tree, bent down, and straightened up holding several rounds fired from his revolver before answering. "These bullets could be crucial in solving the Templeton murders, Watson," he said fiercely, striding over to his desk and placing one of the rounds under his microscope. After a moment I heard an abysmal groan. "The striations don't match, Watson," he said, disappointed. "Now I must test even more rounds!"

I sighed, inwardly moaning. Never again would the Baker Street Christmas tree be decorated with glass ornaments, I vowed bitterly to myself.

* * *

_A/N: And there we go! For anyone who noticed the absence of the ending author's note in the last chapter, I typed it on my new laptop, and it was giving me difficulties. Hope you enjoyed! -SWS _


	25. Christmas Tree Hunting!

_A/N: Merry Christmas in July, everyone! Gather round for presents! ...Yeah, all I got you was this fic. It goes with the last one - I love it when that happens! But, please enjoy, as I sit here listening to Spotify with the fan on to cool off. I hope that it cools you off too, wherever you are, unless it's cold. In that case, can I come over? -SWS_

_Prompt: Mrs. Hudson's Christmas tree has died because of Holmes. With their dear old landlady home in a few hours, our favorite duo sets out to find a new one. Problem? It's Christmas Eve._

_From: Werepanther33_

_Date: December 25th_

* * *

Later that day, I entered the sitting room to find that the limbs of the tree were almost completely bare. The needles were turning brown and many of them had fallen onto the floor, and some of the branches even looked shrunken and withered.

"Holmes!" I bellowed down the stairs. "What have you done to the tree?"

Holmes came up to stand in the doorway with me. "I, er, may have used its pot as a chemical disposal today."

I massaged my head with my hand, groaning. "Holmes, Mrs. Hudson sent a telegram stating that she will be home from her sister's tonight, rather than tomorrow morning. She'll have both our hides if she sees the tree in this state!"

The Great Detective himself appeared quite worried at this prospect. "In that case, what do you propose as our course of action?"

"Well...we could find a new one?"

"Watson, it's Christmas Eve! Where would you suggest going?"

"I don't know, Holmes!"

Holmes' eyes suddenly fell on the small stack of cards and holiday greetings. "I do believe I have an idea."

* * *

"Is all this sneaking around really necessary?"

"For heavens' sake, Watson, this is my brother's flat!"

"But he isn't even home!"

I was suspended from a rope attached to Mycroft Holmes' balcony. Slowly, I climbed up and hoisted myself onto the balcony. Holmes quickly followed, with a skeleton key to open the window and allow us access.

Once inside the darkened sitting room, I squinted and looked around. My gaze alighted on a tiny tree setting on a table in the corner. Its needles were sparse, and it was completely bare of decoration. "That's it?" I said incredulously. "Holmes, did we come all this way for that little thing?"

Holmes stopped in his tracks to stare at the nearly bare tree. "I suppose we did." He walked over and picked it up. "Well, let's go, Watson. I believe we can still make it back to Baker Street back plenty of time to spare.

* * *

Two hours later, both of us tensed when we heard Mrs. Hudson returning. We stayed frozen in our seats until she opened the sitting room door. "Hello, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, how was -" She stopped. "Mr. Holmes, what on earth happened to the tree?"

Holmes' eyes silently traveled to the fireplace, where several freshly sawed logs were burning.

_"You did not!" _Said our landlady in menacing tones.

"We replaced it," offered the detective meekly.

"I should throw you two out on the streets!" she shrieked.

"Please don't, Mrs. Hudson," I pleaded. "It is a season of forgiveness?"

* * *

_A/N: Sorry if it doesn't seem to flow very well, it's the best I could come up with. Last night was rough for me. But, MERRY CHRISTMAS, ALL! More coming, either tonight or tomorrow. -SWS _


	26. Star Light, Star Bright!

_A/N: Good evening! Well, five days left in this challenge! Thanks for sticking with me, everyone, and for continuing to read even after seven months of this story being neglected. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Stars_

_From: Sparky Dorian_

_Date: December 26th_

* * *

It was late in the summer of 1892. The Doctor strolled along a path skirting a field in the country, his wife's hand brushing against his own.

In the rapidly failing light, he smiled at the feel of her smooth, delicate skin.

"Oh, John, look!" she said in a hushed voice, grabbing him by the hand. "It's the first star of the night!"

He looked at where she was pointing, and sure enough, there it was, shining brightly in the deep blue sky.

He thought of his childhood, when his brother had taught him to make a wish on the first star he saw each night. Henry had also told him that each star was the spirit of a deceased loved one. Those who had loved you most would be the first stars you saw. He had always imagined his mother.

Now a single tear trickled out of his eye as he saw the star looking down on him, and as it took on the identity of the best and the wisest man Dr. John Watson had ever known. He would always remember those features, as if they'd been chiseled in granite, but he knew that he would never see them again. Because Sherlock Holmes, master of deduction, was dead.

* * *

_A/N: All right, that just about broke my heart. Sorry if more of these lately have been centered on Holmes' return, but I'm totally anxious for the BBC premiere. ...Aren't we all? Anyhow, hope you enjoyed! -SWS _


	27. The Ghost of Women Past!

_A/N: I'm back! And I intend to finish this soon. Well, this one was very fun. Without further ado... -SWS_

_Prompt: A lady of the Canon catches Holmes underneath mistletoe_

_From: Aleine Skyfire_

_Date: December 27th_

* * *

It was Christmas Eve of 1889 on which closed one of the most engaging cases I had ever encountered in all my years as a detective - that of the Camberwell Poisoners. I was convening near the door of the victim's house, comparing Lestrade's unfortunately nondescript notes with my own.

Suddenly I was disturbed by a stranger's cloak brushing against me as they came purposefully through the door.

"Excuse me, this is still a crime scene," Lestrade called. "You can't be in here."

The clearly female figure did not stop. She paused briefly at my side, leaning in close and pecking me on the cheek before I realized what was happening. "Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she breathed into my ear before turning and swiftly walking up the stairs.

"Miss! Excuse me, miss!" Lestrade dashed up the stairs after her.

I stayed frozen where I stood, glancing up and realizing that I was directly underneath a sprig of that infernally faux-romantic mistletoe.

Lestrade appeared at the top of the stairs, breathless. "Holmes! You'll want to see this!"

I followed him, still in a daze after the unexpected appearance of The Woman. I touched my cheek where her lips had touched my skin. They were so soft and delicate...

In the bedroom at the end of he hall, the window was flung open wide, when I knew it had been latched tight before. Apart from a single thread from her cloak, the mysterious Irene Adler was nowhere to be seen, and I knew for certain that she never wanted to be found.

* * *

_A/N: I left that open for a reason. Haunting, though, wasn't it? How did she escape through the window without killing herself? Was she a ghost? Sorry about that, I'm in a ghostly mood today. More to come, I intend to finish this on this last day of July! -SWS  
_


	28. Christmas at the Yard!

_A/N: Hello, all! I will be finishing this today! And I hope to collect at least 150 reviews, so could you please help with that? Thanks. So... Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Christmas at Scotland Yard_

_From: embracetheweird_

_Date: December 28th_

* * *

"All in!" called Inspector Lestrade, pushing his ample pile of chips to the middle of the table.

"That's another fold!" cried PC Watkins, laying down his cards.

"You're just paranoid," said Inspector Patterson, setting his feet up on the desk beside him. "All you ever do is fold, Watkins. I'm gonna call." He set his own cards down.

Sherlock Holmes puffed on his pipe and glanced at the other player's eye and hand movements. "I'll call you both." Setting his hand on the table, he leaned back triumphantly.

All the others leaned in, and gasped. Patterson's feet fell off his desk. "A royal flush! Holmes, how did you -"

"Elementary, Patterson," said Holmes, shrugging as Sergeant Davies passed him another glass of sherry.

"C'mon, Holmes, ease up a bit," Gregson said wearily. "None of us have had a single sip of sherry all evening!"

"So this is Christmas Eve at Scotland Yard," said MacDonald, shaking his head. "Let's all be glad the Commissioner didn't show up. He's enough to keep us all sober."

* * *

_A/N: To be honest, I have never played poker, nor written a scene involving poker before now. So, if anyone has any poker writing/playing tips, please let me know. Hope you enjoyed! More on the way... -SWS  
_


	29. Locked In!

_A/N: This prompt is interesting...but don't worry, I'm not gonna kill anyone. Today, anyway. -SWS_

_Prompt: Holmes and Watson get locked in a freezing cellar_

_From: Spockologist_

_Date: December 29th_

* * *

"Holmes, did you find the shovel? It's freezing down here!" Watson shivered in the dim light of the bulls-eye lantern.

"Watson, I told you that you would be perfectly welcome to wait for me above ground," said Holmes calmly, shifting the lantern so he could look in another corner.

"I wasn't about to leave you down here!"

Suddenly there was an echoing bang. The two men turned together and saw that the cellar doors had been shut tight.

"It was probably just the wind," said Holmes shakily.

"Never mind the wind!" said Watson. "Look over there!"

A lone piece of paper had fluttered to the ground, which had no doubt fallen into the cellar before the doors were shut.

Watson stooped over to pick it up and read it out loud. "You'll find the shovel in the dark - be sure to use it to dig your own graves."

Holmes gravely shone the light around the cellar once more. "I found the shovel," he said.

Watson turned to look. The shovel was crusted with ice and was held by a cleanly preserved skeleton.

"Holmes, how are we going to get out of here?"

"Not to worry, Watson, I sent Lestrade a note telling him we'd be out at the Kingston estate tonight. I told him we knew that the son was the killer. He'll be here soon."

* * *

One hour later, there was still no sign of Lestrade - or of anyone who might let them out of the cellar.

Watson groaned and collapsed into a corner. Holmes continued to pace the length of the underground room, shuffling along on his frozen feet.

"What's that about Lestrade being here soon, Holmes?" muttered Watson half-responsively. "It's been an hour!"

"Perhaps he doesn't know we're in the cellar," said Holmes.

* * *

Almost another hour later, both men stirred as the cellar doors opened with a loud creak.

Lestrade climbed down the ladder to help them up, wielding his own lantern.

Once above ground, Holmes and Watson's eyes drifted from Lestrade with his lantern, to Gregson, whose gun was trained on a nearby tree, tied to which was Daniel Kingston, the University-age son of the Kingston family.

"How did you get him to tell you where we were?" asked Holmes, nodding at Kingston.

Lestrade looked at the tree calmly and shrugged. "I tied him to the tree and said Gregson wanted to get in a little target practice."

Gregson flicked the safety lock on his weapon. "And I'd still be more than happy to oblige," he growled.

* * *

_A/N: I do not doubt that Gregson would oblige, provided he wouldn't lose his job for it. Although he could claim it was self-defense, I suppose... More coming! -SWS_


	30. No Cases!

_A/N: All right, I know that for some of you it may already be August 1st, but it's still the 31st for me, so I'm gonna put up these last two this evening. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Prompt: Holmes breaks his wrist. He's a baby about it._

_From: Sparky Dorian_

_Date: December 30th_

* * *

As I wound the bandage tightly around Holmes wrist I uttered careful instructions. "You must not fence, or box, or play the violin for at least three weeks. And under no circumstances are you to accept any cases."

Holmes sighed. "But Watson! It wasn't my fault!"

"That doesn't matter. You don't want to be wearing this brace any longer than necessary."

"But who's going to catch Morse?"

"Holmes, I am sure they can handle it at Scotland Yard."

"They can't! They'll butcher the proceedings for sure."

I sighed. "Holmes, I'd allow you to help, but you had to go and fall off a building!"

"It was only out of a window! For heaven's sake, Watson, stop with the exaggerations!"

"It was still a second story window. You're lucky to have gotten away in a brace, and not a coffin. That fall would've killed most people, even if it was cushioned."

"Watson, please let me -"

"No. Stop being such a baby, Holmes."

* * *

_A/N: And there we have it! One more to go... -SWS_


	31. Fragile!

_A/N: Last day! Thank you all for making this journey with me, I greatly appreciate the support. All these positive comments have given my motivation to continue. It was a pretty bad December health-wise for me, and to be honest, if it hadn't been for all of you, I'd have given up writing entirely. So thank you. And please enjoy this last chapter for me. -SWS  
_

_Prompt: Fragile_

_From: Rockztar_

_Date: December 31st_

* * *

"Where. Is. It?" Holmes growled, seeming determined to tear apart the very floorboards of the flat to find his deerstalker.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Hudson worriedly, standing a safe distance back as books went flying from the shelves and closets were turned inside out.

He began to rifle though a stack of newspapers on the table, as if convinced that his hat was somewhere in the midst of the newsprint. A porcelain vase was tipping, dangerously close to the edge. The final straw came when Holmes slapped down the stack of papers on the table, having not found the hat.

"Be careful with that vase, dear!" called Mrs. Hudson. "It's...fragile." She winced as it hit the ground, and, with a great crash, splintered into a million jagged pieces.

Holmes was unperturbed by this, and turned around, sweeping the room once more with his hawk-like eyes. "Ha!" he cried, spying a bit of tweed print sticking out from underneath the sofa.

* * *

_A/N: So yes, he found it. No worries. Again, thank you all so much. I look forward to doing this again this coming December. Hope you enjoyed! -SWS  
_


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